You Can't Break Me
by Greeks-and-Geeks
Summary: While going back to the cabin three, Percy Jackson is captured, and has no means of salvation. How will our favorite hero escape this time? Who are theese mysterious captors? The only answer is to read! Rated T for abuse.
1. Kidnapped

You Can't Break Me

**Hello readers! This is my first ever fanfic, so constructive criticism is appreciated! Flames will be overlooked! If you have any ideas, I'd be happy to look over them and add them.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I (sadly) don't own Percy Jackson.**

Percy Jackson P.O.V.

Walking back to Cabin three, you hear a rustling behind the trees. Assuming it's just a rouge breeze, you continue walking. Your ADHD brain wanders to things that happened earlier that day, like how you had beat Clarisse (Again!) in the arena, and how great Annabeth looked with that silver head band, and how _angry_ you got at her boyfriend, just for being… _him_.

Another rustle, this time closer to you.

Just the wind, you think to yourself, but you're more suspicious now.

Anyways, it's not like anyone's stalking you-

Suddenly, a blindfold is covering your vision, and you struggle with the hands locking yours behind your back. You obviously can't reach Riptide, but Zeus gave you two legs for a reason; one for kicking, one for balancing. Hopefully it's a male; you're going to kick 'him' where it hurts; a nice, hard kick, just for him.

Well, that plan failed epically. The captors have just picked you up by your legs, so you're in the air, plank-style.

Still struggling, you manage to fall out of their grasps. Unfortunately not willing to give you up, your captors pound you with their fists and feet to the brink of unconsciousness, you manage to do one last thing.

_Grover_, you think, desperately trying to stay conscious to get your message to Grover. _Taking me away. Help._

With that, you slip into the murky blackness, into a coma like state, and you don't know when the next time you wake up will be.


	2. Room of Doom

**A/N: …Yes, I know it's been a while, but ideas for this story have completely evaded me. There will be light Percabeth, but I'm not a big fan of really mushy… anything. **

**And yes, Annabeth is dating someone else because our dear Percy was too slow, and- wait a second! I'll tell you in the story!**

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as you liked the last one! Thanks and enjoy!**

**~Greeks-and-Geeks**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

You could ignore the fact that your left eye was swollen shut. You could ignore the fact that your left index finger and your right ankle were most likely broken. You could even ignore the fact that you were in _chains_.

But you _cannot_ ignore the fact that as soon as you woke up, someone's knife was literally a centimeter away from your face.

Your first instinct is to get away from the knife, but you soon realize that someone's standing behind you as well. Your second reaction is something that always makes things seem better; sarcasm and false bravados.

"Hi," You say cheerily around your swollen tongue – you must've bit it in that fight – to the mystery-knife-wielder, as if you're meeting up with an old friend.

He snorts. Then he – very rudely, mind you – kicks you in the chest. You gasp for breath, and smirk. You are not fragile. You could handle these guys… once you were out of chains.

The guard behind you chuckles and says, "Ariel is finally awake, Marque. You want to have some fun with the little mermaid?"

This voice is definitely female; high pitched and nasally. And, as a general rule, you prefer _not_ to be compared to The Little Mermaid, or any messed up version of what goes on under the sea. Seriously, Triton is not the king of the ocean or whatever the heck he does.*

Excusing the ADHD moment you had, you realize that Marque and the nasally girl are trying to drag you out of your cozy little stone chamber (Sarcasm, mind you).

Key word: _trying_.

You were starting to feel really proud of liking double cheese burgers so much.

Nasal grunts. "What have you been eating your whole life? Rocks?"

You just smirk and let them futilely try to pull you gods-knows-where.

Marque snorts. He does that a lot, you notice. He hefts you up, hits your head on the door frame, and once again, you slip into the murky darkness.

**...Ω∑∆∑Ω…**

**Marque P.O.V.**

After you accidentally-on-purpose bang Perseus' head on the door, you tug carry him through the long winding corridors. You don't bother waiting for Chenille; her voice gets really irritating, even if she's your only friend.

Perseus mumbles through his unconsciousness. You noticed he does this when he sleeps, because every time you go check on him he mumbles things along the line of, "Annabeth… -stupid boyfriend… -Mrs. O'Leary…-Mom…"

This kid is _really_ weird.

Anyways, you need to get this kid to (what you call) the "Doom Room." This room is basically for questioning, and for giving consequences to those who don't cooperate with _the_ Master.

While your thinking, you don't even notice that you've gotten to said room.

Ever so slowly, you open the door. It looks abandoned: spider webs, dust, and battered floor boards, and an out of style questioning table and chairs.

Oh, and you forgot to mention! Several torture devices that were made especially for Perseus Jackson.


	3. Blood and Pain

You Can't Break Me

**A/N: This can get dark. But enjoy and review!**

Blood and pain. Everywhere. Dripping, sticking, pooling. In your hair, on your arms, in between your fingers. Dripping off of your chin, sticking on your shoulders, pooling on the floor. Throbbing, pulsing, receding. In your knee, your head, your ankle. Blood and pain, pain and blood. Everywhere.

Dripping, throbbing, sticking, pulsing, pooling, receding.

They would come for you. They always did. Asking you questions for which you had no answers, beating you for knowledge that you don't have. Causing you pain. Making you bleed.

Marque likes guns. You learn that the hard way. Bullets in your knee, your shoulder, marks where bullets had grazed your shins. He likes to watch you squirm when he holds the gun to your shins and feet. He likes your pain. _Bang, bang, bang._

Marque's friend likes tazers. His favorite one can melt through skin. He likes to use that one in the same spot. If you had the energy to turn, you could probably see your hip bone. He likes it when you scream and convulse from his electrical shocks. He likes your pain as well. _Zap, zap, zap._

Chenille doesn't like your pain as much. She whips you every now and then, but she doesn't seem to take especial joy in your pain. She likes to talk about giving you pain more than she actually does. Sometimes, when she wasn't in a torturous mood, she would sit down next to you and talk about nothing. About everything. She told you about her crush on Marque, how she left her family when she woke up to find her little sister was dead. She claimed it was her step-mom's fault. She told you that you were still here because you wouldn't answer the questions. You never talked back to her. She never expected you to. The sound of her nasally voice was… good. It was nice compared to your own screams, the snickers of Tazer Boy, and Marque's gun.

On a good day, she would come in the torture room (your new home; they no longer brought you back to the cell) without a whip and tell you what the date and day was, and the weather. She would feed you half of her rations, and trickle water down your throat. She would wipe the tears, blood, and sweat off of your face and neck, and tell you how the basketball season was going.

On a bad day, she'd whip you, and let the blood drip off of your forehead.

"Ariel," Chenille said from behind the door. She was like Mr. D- she refused to call you Percy. "I got you some chicken with gravy. It's a Southern meal. I know you're a New Yorker and all…" she rambled on as she came farther into the room. You opened your mouth when she shredded chunks of chicken away from the bone. It was ice cold, and so was the gravy.

It was the best thing you'd ever tasted.

According to Chenille, it was September twelfth. You'd almost been here for a month.

"No one is going to save you, you know. We'd capture or kill them. You're ours now."

You rolled your head across your bare chest to look at her. She looked like she actually thought that that was the truth. You gave her a long look, then turned away.

"It's sunny out, but it's still chilly. You'd probably need a light jacket… and a trip to the hospital." She said, a light smile on her face. It wasn't sadistic. It was happy, guilty, and sorry, all at the same time.

You nod your head. You've stopped talking ever since Marque shot you in the knee for a comment on his intelligence. It was innocent, really. No reason to shoot people!

"The Celtics beat the Lakers by one point. Garnett is out for the season, due to injuries. A shame, really."

You frown and nod. Chenille id sitting across from you. You can hear her breath. _In, out. In, out._

She holds a mirror in front of you so you can see what they've done to you. The swelling in your eye had gone down. Your hair is matted with blood. You could see a hole in your shoulder. You look away.

"You'd look better if you'd just answer the questions." She grabs your chin and pulls your face towards hers. You jerk away.

She sighs and leaves.

You move, and a cut on your wrists opens and bleeds. Drip, stick, pool. Your head throbs; you probably have a concussion. Throb, pulse, recede.

You are alone. No one is going to save you, because they don't care.


	4. Meet the Torturers: Chenille

You Can't Break Me- Meet the Torturers: Chenille

**A/N: Pretty much what the chapter's title is. And to the second "Guest," I hope you like this chapter more, 'Ccuse it's going to be from a different perspective. Sorry you didn't like the other chapters.**

**Thanks a million for the positive reviews! They touch my heart! But I'm going to be greedy and ask for more. Just a simple 'this suckz' would suffice. Again, Thanks. Enjoy!**

Chenille wrung out the bloody rag, sighing as she did so. This was entirely _her_ fault. _She_ was the one who whipped him in the face. _She_ was the one who made him bleed.

_It was you, _the voice said. _You evil bitc-_

"SHUT UP!" Chenille screamed. _She_ was getting stronger. _She_ was able to overpower her more often. Chenille sunk to the floor, sobbing. Dribbles of spit dripped over her mouth.

_You selfish brat. You run away and cry. You hurt people for _money_, and then you cry about it. You're disgusting._

Chenille shivered. "Go away. Go away." She mumbled, saliva flung onto the floor. She wanted _her_ gone. Dead. Brutally murdered. Thrown under a bus.

_Finally showing your true colors? _The cold voice asked. _What a hideous person to be. Too bad you're part of me. _I _would never harm an innocent man like Perseus Jackson._

Chenille saw red. "But you did," she whispered. "_You_ whipped him. _I'm_ the one who feeds him and cares about him. A little. You're the one who makes him bleed."

_She_ laughed. _Maybe I do, but don't count out your precious Marque. He shoots him, you know. He bent Perseus' arm so far back that it broke twice. Perseus vomited bile and blood. That's _definitely _a turn on._

"Marque's just brainwashed. That's all. He wouldn't choose to hurt anyone." She was sure. They were just doing this for money and The Master. Or The Mistress. No one was really sure, since they had never seen her before.

_Whatever helps you sleep at night._

Chenille growled, wiped the tears and spit away, and went to bed.

…**Ω∑∆∑Ω…**

She went to the Mess room and grabbed the Meatloaf Surprise. She wouldn't eat it, because she was ninety percent sure it was human muscles. But she supposed it would do, especially to a starving guy.

She opened the door and was hit with the smell of blood. It was almost overwhelming. Percy looked up at her, nodded in recognition, and looked away towards the torture stuff that Chenille had banned Marque from using.

Chenille sat cross legged across from the dying boy, and held out a forkful of the undercooked (bloody) shredded human muscles.

"Eat up. You've got a long day ahead of you."

Percy ignored her.

"C'mon, Ariel. Here comes the airpla- boat!" She said in her best baby voice.

Percy rolled his head towards her, glared half-heartedly, and rolled his head away.

So she force-fed him instead. He struggled more than she thought he would've.

After a while of that, and of _her_ taunting her… something about trying to break unbreakable boys. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Chenille washed his face and any other exposed skin (she left the gun wounds and broken arm alone). She apparently pressed wrong on his knee, because if spurted blood and made him pass out. In the puddle of blood was a bullet. Chenille looked away.

_You evil, disgusting twit. When they come, when they find out… We're dead._

Chenille shivered. Because she knew she was right.

Stupid alter ego.

**A/N: Boom. So **_**that's**_** why Chenille seems to have another personality. 'Cause SHE DOES. Review! **

**GOOD REVIEWS= HAPPY AUTHOR**

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**HAPPY READER= GOOD REVIEWS… etc.**


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